No Solution

“Mum! Nooooooo.”
His scream was shrill and distraught. My heart beat hard against my chest. What on earth was wrong, this time?  But before I could call back, an angry shout came towards me accompanied by footstamps  on the stairs.
“What have you done? I can’t wear this.”
I quickly unlocked the bathroom door, still doing up my flies.
“You know Mum’s not here; I’ll be there in a moment, James.”
But he was already standing outside the door, waiting for me.
“Look, Dad.”  He held out two articles of clothing. Two pink articles of clothing, still wet from the washing machine.
Puzzled I looked at it. Pink? No little girls in this house. Where had those come from?
“What is it, James?
“That,” he said, “Is my sports kit. Shorts and tee shirt. Now pink.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Mum,” he said accusingly, “would never have done this. She always remembered to check my pockets.”
Taking the damp articles gently I turned and placed them in the basin before crouching down in front of the now silently crying James. I put out my arms and he leant into them, his hot, clammy head pushing into my chest.
“Are my white shirts pink as well?” I asked.
He nodded.
“And the white towel?”
“Pink,” said a muffled voice.
“Very pink?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” I said. “I wonder what made them pink?”
“You did.” I managed a small laugh.
“OK, OK, I’ll take the blame. But what did I miss?”
“My red socks.”
Still with one arm around James I moved a couple of feet back into the bathroom so I could reach into the basin, and lift out the pale pink items.  I one handedly fished around in the pockets.  He was right. A pair of red socks, one in each pocket.
“When do you need this kit?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“What do you think Mum would have done to sort this out?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Any suggestions?”
“Google it,” he said.

In the office I sat him on my knee and we tried  ‘problem pink stained white sportswear solution’ at his suggestion, which bought up a few wacky sites, including one that asked,
“What causes semen to stain white sheets orange or pink after being washed and dried?” We refined our search. The answer seemed to something called Rit. I had never heard of it. Another answer, it seemed to me, would be just to wash the whole load again, without the socks, and keep our fingers crossed.
James came down with me, helped me stuff the machine and I let him add another tablet of detergent. We set it on a 50 degree wash before bath time, book and bed. I let him keep the light on after I’d read Jenny’s favourite poem from AA Milne. “The King’s Breakfast,” with all the voices.
Then I went into the utility to watch the washing machine go around, swirling pink tinged water, knowing Jenny would have known exactly what to do.

Author: Sarah

No time to lose. No, time to lose. Make time to stand and stare.... Did you see that? View all posts by Sarah